


In Which Frank Gets a New Tattoo and Gerard Freaks Out

by my99centdreams



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my99centdreams/pseuds/my99centdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what the title says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Frank Gets a New Tattoo and Gerard Freaks Out

The first time Gerard sees Frank’s new tattoo they’re at a show in a church basement that only cost them fourteen bucks to get in but sixty bucks each to take the train there. Gerard hasn’t been in Pennsylvania in over a year, but the atmosphere of the show is the same no matter where he is. The air’s thick with sweat and smells musty; he imagines it’s what all of the unused bibles smell like, rotting away on the shelves kids kicked over before the first band even finished getting all of their gear onstage. He was nervous to come here, herding a bunch of teenagers into a church basement for a punk show isn’t exactly the brightest idea, he’s seen bigger places go down in flames, but there was no way he was going to miss this.

He doesn’t know what band’s playing or where Frank is, he got swallowed up by the crowd about an hour ago, and the band he came to see doesn’t come on for another half hour, but he’s doing great. He’s being shoved along with the rest of the crowd, stumbling every so often and catching himself on other people’s backs and shoulders, and revels in the feeling of not being able to hear his own thoughts for once. It’s normal; it’s like every other show they go to together, until the band Gerard came to see starts playing.

The crowd surges forwards immediately, the change is almost violent, unlike the band’s sound which is more mellow than anything even while the lyrics paint pictures of failed suicide attempts, friendships, and relationships. If the guy behind him hadn’t latched onto his shirt to help right him before he fell he wouldn’t have even seen Frank onstage, but he did.

He’s soaked in sweat, skin shining in the hazy yellow lights. His lip’s bleeding and Gerard watches as his hand flies up to his nose unconsciously to make sure his nose ring is still intact. Frank’s eyes are glazed, and the second he opens his mouth to start screaming the singer angles his microphone towards him with a small smile before focusing on his guitar again. It’s not that he didn’t notice Frank was shirtless right away, that’s nothing new, it was the tiny cursive ‘ _Gerard_ ’ inked between the flame tattoo and his left nipple that caught his attention, yeah, _that_ was fucking new alright.

It’s, god, he doesn’t know what it is. He’s pretty sure his heart stops for a good thirty seconds because when he comes out of whatever trance he was in he finds himself pounding his fist against his chest, staring at the spot where Frank was standing however long ago. He doesn’t know what part of the song they’re at anymore but it doesn’t really matter because Frank got his motherfucking _name_ tattooed on his motherfucking _skin_.

All of a sudden this fucking _tidal wave_ of heat washes through him and he starts to back up, stumbling his way out of the church, because he’s hard as a fucking rock now and doesn’t really want to be labeled as the creep who rubs up against people at shows, especially not when his boyfriend’s the asshole who’s been trying to get a mosh pit started for the last five songs.

When he gets outside it’s not exactly hot, but it’s still too warm for him to put his hoodie back on, so he leans against the cold door of the church and digs out his cigarettes, trying and failing to figure out what the hell is going on inside his brain.

He’s having trouble coming up with any coherent thoughts; he keeps getting stuck on the image of Frank thrashing around with his shirt off, Gerard’s name inked on his skin for everyone to see, for everyone to know exactly who he fucking belongs to. Fuck, half of his brain is telling him he should be freaking out over this and the other half is screaming at him to march back inside and yank Frank out just because he can, because Frank is _his_ and no one else’s.

Somehow, he stays outside until the show is over, smoking cigarette after cigarette until the taste of smoke is so strong he has to spit and flick the filter onto the street. People start filing out, way too loud for a group who are supposed to be keeping the fact that they broke into a church a secret, but quiet enough that he knows part of them got left behind in that basement. Ten, fifteen people go by and Gerard starts fidgeting, where the fuck is Frank? He panics briefly, thinking that Frank’s going to stay behind to try and talk to some of the bands, and completely misses the moment when Frank flies out of the church, throwing himself onto Gerard in that way he always does after a really good concert.

He kisses him, fast and sloppy, before pulling back, a lazy grin falling in to place. “Gee! Fuck - that was fucking perfect.”

He’s still not wearing a shirt, he’s not holding one either so Gerard figures he must’ve lost it and seriously? His self-control was shit to begin with how the fuck is he supposed to handle this? They’ve got to make the train or else they’ll be stuck in Scranton with no money so it’s not even like there’s time to fool around somewhere.

“Yeah, perfect.” Gerard mutters, distracted. He grabs onto Frank’s hand and starts tugging him towards the bus stop, practically shoving his hoodie in Frank’s face. “Put this on, Jesus. Where the hell is your shirt?”

He glances at Frank out of the corner of his eye and just manages to catch the confused, hurt look on Frank’s face. It’s not that he means to come across as an asshole but he’s about to get on a bus with a boner that’s visible from space what with his jeans looking like they were painted on and it’s all Frank’s fault, so excuse him if he’s a little flustered.  Frank asks quietly, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Gerard rushes out, looking back at Frank and forcing a smile. “Nothing is wrong.” Frank stays quiet, surprisingly, not even bothering to talk about the show or ask Gerard if they have time to stick around and wait for the band to come out. The walk to the bus stop is relatively short and awkward enough that by the time they get there Gerard’s dick has calmed down somewhat. Frank’s silent beside him, rocking back and forth on his toes and twisting his hands together, before reaching into Gerard’s pocket and stealing a cigarette. Gerard lights it for him, but shakes his head when Frank offers him a drag.

Frank flicks the butt away just as the bus pulls up a few minutes later, and Gerard stomps his way onto the bus with Frank following closely behind. It’s dark, only a few of the ceiling lights are on, but it’s one of those really comfortable ones with the weird seat patterns so Gerard isn’t too worried about what everyone else is doing. They’re quiet for a while, listening to whatever shitty talk show the driver has on the radio and staring out the window, and then Frank mumbles, “You saw it didn’t you?”

“Saw what?” Gerard asks, avoiding eye contact.

“The tattoo.”

“Oh,” Gerard breathes, like he didn’t know that was what Frank was talking about. “Yeah, I saw it.”

Frank looks away and they don’t say anything for the rest of the ride.

*

Somehow, and don’t ask how, Gerard managed to get them back to his house without being arrested for, like, indecent exposure or whatever technical terms they use for having sex on public transportation. He’s kind of on a roll tonight though, the last time they came home after a show, stumbling around in the dark like idiots and crashing into tables and paintings and other fragile things that make incredibly loud noises when dropped, they woke up the whole house and couldn’t do anything but make out for fear of Gerard’s parents coming down to complain some more about the stuff they broke. But, this time they’ve made it up to the point where Gerard’s about to replace his fingers with his dick and he resists the urge to pat himself _and_ Frank on the back for a job well done.

They haven’t really talked much, and most of that’s Gerard’s fault since he’s been too busy sucking Frank off and trying not to come in his pants, so he pulls himself out of whatever fog he’s in to ask, “Okay?”

He tears his gaze away from the tattoo, meeting Frank’s eyes with his eyebrows raised. Frank’s nodding before Gerard even gets the word out and it isn’t until Gerard starts pushing in, biting his lip, that Frank blurts, “Wait-”

Gerard cuts him off, leaning in and pressing their lips together quickly, because it’d be rude not to kiss someone before fucking their brains out, right? His eyes flick from Frank’s face to his tattoo because he can’t keep his eyes off  it for longer than a second it’s fucking insane and he probably should’ve asked after sliding the rest of the way in but fuck you if you expect him to think clearly right now. “I can – it’s all healed, right?”

“Um – yes, I mean, yeah it’s fine.” Frank squeaks, eyes shut tight as his breathing picks up. Gerard’s been waiting to do this for – oh I don’t know – _four_ hours so as soon as he ducks down, swiping his tongue over Frank’s salty skin – the tattoo – his _name_ – he pulls out a bit, moaning at the feel of Frank wrapped around him, tight and warm. He bites his way up Frank’s body, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his neck and reaching a hand down to latch onto his pudgy hip.

Frank’s still wearing the fucking hoodie Gerard gave him outside the show, and when he lifts up to take it off Gerard shoves him back down, almost whining at the thought of having to stop. He opens his eyes, not knowing when he closed them, and fights the urge to close them again in hopes of not coming in the next two seconds when he sees Frank. He’s biting his busted lip hard, trying to stay quiet like he always fucking does, and when Gerard starts to speed up he throws his head back, blushing and shaking his head when Gerard begs, “Let me hear you – _fuck_ – _please_ , Frank.”

Frank keeps biting his lip, blood starting to trail down his chin, and Gerard digs his fingers into Frank’s soft thighs as he hitches them up higher and adjusts the angle a bit more. He leans down to lick up the line of blood, hips stuttering as Frank lets out a strangled, high-pitched, “ _Fuck_.”

The hand on Frank’s hip flies to Frank’s cock where it’s resting hard and thick on his stomach, pre-come smearing on the backs of Gerard’s knuckles as they bump up against Frank’s belly. “That’s it, baby. Fucking – fucking sound so fucking _good_.”

“ _Gerard_ ,” Frank moans, hips hitching up, trying to get Gerard’s hand to move faster, but he ignores it, too focused on the heat curling in his belly.

“ _Yeah_ , yeah, Frank. I’m the only fucking one who makes you moan like this – who makes you _feel_ like this.” Frank nods, his hand tangling in Gerard’s messy hair as he yanks him down to his chest and holds him there, letting out a groan that sounds like it was fucking torn out of him when Gerard starts licking over the tattoo and his nipple. And Frank feels so fucking good, squeezing around him and leaking into his hand, and Gerard knows he isn’t going to last so he mutters a “fuck it” against Frank’s skin and growls, “Know why, Frank?” Frank shakes his head and Gerard feels his cock swell in his hand. “Cause you’re fucking mine. Y’got my name on you, baby. Now everyone knows who you fucking belong to.”

Frank comes before Gerard even finishes what he was saying, spurting onto his stomach and Gerard’s fingers as he grits out, “Yours.”

Gerard follows him over the edge, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he buries himself as deep as he can, silent even though his mouth’s wide open. He keeps his hand on Frank’s cock as they ride out the aftershocks together, groaning softly when Frank pulls him down for a kiss. They lay there for a little while kissing until pulls out. He falls on the bed next to Frank, watching as he reaches into Gerard’s nightstand to get the cigarettes he keeps there, and Gerard figures why not? It’s not like his dad can smell the smoke two floors up. Frank hands him one as he falls back onto the bed, finally ditching the hoodie and using it to wipe his stomach clean.

“Frankie,” he rasps, and suddenly shakes his head like the sound of his voice was a wake-up call. “Fuck, _fuck_ you’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

Frank laughs, snuggling in closer and leaning his head back. “Yeah,” he whispers, wrapping his fingers around Gerard’s wrist to steady his hand as he brings the cigarette to his mouth, a smile stretching across his face as he exhales. “Yeah, I know.”

 


End file.
